


The Proof of the Pudding is in the Eating

by partypaprika



Category: Burnt (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:47:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21945337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/partypaprika/pseuds/partypaprika
Summary: To say that Tony is surprised when Reece walks in through the door to Adam Jones at the Langham would be an understatement. “You’re back again? I thought you’d had enough of Paris, 2007," Tony says, his heart racing.Reece doesn’t skip a beat as his coat makes the handoff to Kaitlin. “Tony, haven’t you seen the news? It’s London, 2016. Even if the company here does have that cringe nostalgia feel of 2007.”Tony’s already looking down to the list of reservations. He sees M. O’Reilly for two. “I take it that you are Mr. O’Reilly?” he asks.“And they say that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks,” Reece says.
Relationships: Tony Balerdi/Montgomery Reece
Comments: 8
Kudos: 45
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	The Proof of the Pudding is in the Eating

**Author's Note:**

  * For [geri_chan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geri_chan/gifts).



> Geri_chan, I hope you enjoy!

It’s a Tuesday afternoon, the usual cold and grey of mid-January London outside and, inside the Langham, the last of the lunch seatings about to finish when Reece walks through the door. Most Tuesdays are quiet—especially Tuesdays in January—but Tony wonders if the room has gone especially quiet or it’s just his brain buzzing in shock.

Tony knows without even looking that it’s 13:30 on the dot and despite the complex evolution that has gone into the logic and decision-making portions of his brain, the only thing that Tony can think about is how there’s a predator right in front of him, right there in the restaurant. Tony’s body wants to flee, but he’s frozen in place, unable to turn away from Reece. Fight or flight at its finest.

Reece on the other hand, swoops in with his usual impatience, already removing his coat to hand to Kaitlin, revealing a dark blue suit, made with heavier wool as a concession to the winter, and a pale blue-green tie.

After a moment, the fight or flight response calms down and Tony carefully raises an eyebrow. “You’re back again? I thought you’d had enough of Paris, 2007.”

Reece doesn’t skip a beat as his coat makes the handoff to Kaitlin. “Tony, haven’t you seen the news? It’s London, 2016. Even if the company here does have that cringe nostalgia feel of 2007.”

Tony’s already looking down to the list of reservations. He sees _M. O’Reilly_ for two. “I take it that you are Mr. O’Reilly?” he asks.

“And they say that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks,” Reece says.

Tony ignores it. “Will your guest be joining you later?” 

Reece smiles at Tony, really smiles in that way that says that when he really wants to be, Reece is capable of great charm. And right now is apparently one of those times. “I was hoping that you would be my guest,” he says.

Tony stares at him. He rapidly flips through a list of possible reasons that Reece would want to eat with him for the first time in four years. It’s obviously Adam-related, although he’s reasonably certain that the act of eating lunch with Tony isn’t intended as revenge for some real or imagined slight.

Perhaps he is trying to gain additional insight into Adam’s menu. See if the reviews are true. Maybe he just wants to annoy both Adam and Tony by showing up in their claimed space. After all, who knows what goes on in that head of his.

“I’m afraid that I have to work,” Tony says, although he’s not sure how much of his tone really conveys apology. Tony is capable of great reserves of remorse. For customers and reviewers and vendors and people that Adam Jones has managed to piss off by just existing. But he has very little contrition for Montgomery Reece.

“This is your last seating for lunch,” Reece says. “One half of your restaurant is soon to finish what’s left of their meal. I’m sure that Kaitlin is very much capable of handholding the rest of the patrons who need it.”

Tony looks over at Kaitlin. She looks back at him, her eyes conveying that she’ll back him up either way. She is entirely capable of being maître d’—she handles it excellently on Tony’s days off or when the hotel demands his full attention.

Absolutely nothing good can come out of Tony feeding into whatever Reece is planning for Adam. He shouldn’t want to say yes. But Reece hasn’t voluntarily requested Tony’s presence since an event that Tony has termed the “Paris incident”. Even that shouldn’t sway him, but there’s something else tugging at Tony, telling him to accept. Maybe it’s nostalgia for 2007 or gratitude to Reece for being a human for once when Adam broke down after the mess with the Michelin agents and Michel. Tony closes his eyes in defeat.

“Alright,” Tony says. “But the minute that you start going off on Adam, I will leave.”

“It will be an Adam-free abuse zone,” Reece says.

Tony will believe that when he sees it, but he nods once to Kaitlin, takes two menus and then leads Reece over to his reserved table where they both sit.

For a long moment, Tony has the oddest feeling as if everyone in the room has taken note of this extraordinary situation, but when he looks around, everyone is absorbed in their own tables and lives and Reece is studying the menu.

“Congratulations on the star,” he says when he looks up. He seems to mean it, genuinely and it puts Tony awkwardly on his back foot as he thanks him.

The Michelin rankings came out in October—Adam had been so emotional, he’d cried. Tony had cried too, although no one had seemed especially surprised by that. His dad had even cried and that had made Tony cry again. It was emotional all around.

“What should I get?” Reece asks as he looks down the menu.

Tony _should_ say that everything is good. And it is, every single dish on Adam’s menu isn’t just good, it’s _par excellence_. Instead, he says, “The lobster roll au Japon to start and the scallops in juniper aroma, balsamic reduction and borage blossoms as the main.”

Stefan, one of their servers, comes over to pour their water at that time, and Reece turns to him, still using that charming smile and orders exactly that along with a glass of chenin blanc.

Tony orders nitro poached aperitifs and then the risotto with lobster and saffron.

Reece is frowning when Stefan departs and Tony looks at him questioningly. “I thought that you recommended the lobster roll and scallops,” he says.

“I do,” Tony says. “But this way you’ll get to try two other of our excellent dishes. I think that it would have been a little boring for you had I ordered the same thing. I am well aware that a chef loves nothing more than trying each dish that he or she can.”

Reece keeps looking at him, a curious expression, and Tony’s suddenly tired of this game. “Why are you really here?” he asks.

“Why do you think?” Reece says.

“Wild guess? Because you think that it will piss Adam off to not just eat in his restaurant but with his maître d’.”

“Don’t forget, main financial backer,” Reece says. Tony stares back, his temper beginning to rise but then Reece starts to speak again. “Remember when we all started working at Jean-Luc’s?”

Tony closes his eyes. It was impossibly long ago and they were all impossibly young. Tony, fresh from spending his whole life working at one hotel or another that his family owned—the Palazzo Parigi, his grandmother’s first hotel, then to the Langham in London, followed by Le Meurice in Paris. He’d worked in almost every position: clerk, waiter, bellhop, manager. If something needed to be done, Tony did it. But of everything that he did, he’d most loved being maître d’.

That’s where he’d met Adam, Reece, Max and Michel—Tony had taken a position as assistant maître d’ in Le Meurice for Jean-Luc’s restaurant. It had been understood by all parties that it would be a six month or so assignment. It lasted for three years, much against his father’s and grandmother’s wishes.

Tony smiles. “How could I forget?” Reece had been so angry, even then, angry at Adam for coming in and usurping his golden boy spot, angry at the world.

Neither of them mention how it ended—the fights over Adam’s growing drug addiction, Tony taking Adam’s side, Reece screaming down the kitchen and leaving to work under Heston Blumenthal.

Tony can still see the look on Reece’s face. Reece had gone to complain to Jean-Luc about Adam shooting up in the freezer and he’d said _Tony saw it too, Adam has a problem_. And Jean-Luc had looked at Tony and Tony had shrugged and said _You’re mistaken. I didn’t see anything_.

Reece’s face had gone tight, his jaw clenching, eyes blazing and he’d stared at Tony. Tony who had known exactly what he was doing and had done it anyways—out of misplaced loyalty or love or some kind of hormonal emotional bullshit cocktail thereof.

When Reece had picked a fight with Adam, Adam who was high on god-knew-what that night, Tony had almost expected it. The fight might have been with Adam but it was Tony that Reece really wanted to be yelling at. In all their time together, Reece had never yelled at Tony once. Tony had once thought it was because they were friends. Now, he knows it’s because Reece had never viewed him as an equal. He’s not a rival, the way that Adam is. He’s not a mentor, the way that Jean-Luc was. He’s not a specialist, the way that Max or Michel is. He’s just Tony.

“Was it always this bad between us?” Reece asks.

“What do you mean?” Tony says.

“We used to be friends once,” Reece says and there’s no mistaking the longing in his tone. “Or did I imagine it?”

“Yes, we did,” Tony says and the look on Reece’s face is so painful, Tony would do anything to make it go away. “Or maybe it was Stockholm Syndrome.”

Reece can’t help laughing at that. “Probably Stockholm Syndrome. How else do you explain Max?”

“There is no other way to explain Max,” Tony says. “My advice to you? Do not hire a Max.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Reece says, laughing again. When he laughs, his whole face lights up, looking young and handsome.

“How is your restaurant?” Tony asks. “I see it’s retained its second star.”

Reece puffs up a little bit at that and then modestly says, “It’s always an honour.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Spare me. You would have burned down the restaurant if they’d awarded you one star instead of two.”

“It is an honour,” Reece says vehemently. “But yes, I would have burned something down. My restaurant, the Michelin headquarters. Your hotel.”

Tony laughs at that. “It’s nice to know that my life’s work is just kindling to you.”

Reece smiles back and from there, they move into safer conversational waters—new restaurant openings, new hirings, Tony’s younger siblings. They don’t talk about Tony’s father.

When the lobster roll and aperitifs arrive, Reece keeps his face neutral as he carefully bites into the golden toasted roll. He closes his eyes and chews it slowly.

“In-house shichimi togarashi?” he asks when he’s finished. Tony nods and Reece smiles. “Perfect amount of nori—that kick of spice and salt elevates the lobster.”

Reece not so subtly checks out Tony’s plate where there’s a gin martini nitro, old fashioned nitro and sidecar nitro beautifully arranged. Tony lets him hang on the line for a minute before he takes pity on Reece.

“You should take this one and this one,” he says, gesturing to the old fashioned and sidecar. Reece was never a fan of gin martinis, so he keeps that one for himself.

“Which ones are those?” Reece asks.

“Old fashioned and sidecar,” Tony says. Reece looks pleased by that. He doesn’t offer another compliment when he finishes those, but Tony can tell that he’s enjoyed it all the same. Reece’s compliments are always carefully hoarded—Tony’s long past letting that bother him. Even receiving one feels like a win.

When the mains come, Reece tastes both of the dishes, offers another compliment on the pairing of juniper and borage. Tony raises his eyebrows, wonders what Reece actually wants.

“When I said that you couldn’t speak poorly about Adam, I didn’t mean that you had to go out of your way to be nice to him,” Tony says. “Although I’m happy to pass along the message.”

Reece frowns. “I’m a chef,” he says and he sounds, of all things, insulted. “I would never fake a compliment for some arbitrary definition of nice.”

“I guess it’s just a little hard for me to believe,” Tony says. “But I will not look a gift horse in the mouth. I’m immensely glad that you like it.”

Reece eyes Tony suspiciously, like he’s hiding something under his words.

“I hear that Yamamoto’s Sushi Kyoto is quite good,” Reece says eventually.

Tony has heard that it is more than good. Sushi Kyoto is a new Covent Garden restaurant seating ten people at a time for an omakase menu.

“I’ve heard that as well,” Tony says. “I love Japanese food—I should find time to go.”

“I have a reservation for next week on Tuesday night,” Reece says. There’s a brief pause and then Reece looks Tony firmly in the eye. “For two.”

Tony opens his mouth to decline and then stops. There’s a weight in Reece’s look and Tony does have next Tuesday off, although he wonders how Reece knew that.

The moment stretches between them and something small, something delicate, flits in Tony’s chest.

“Well, I have next Tuesday off,” Tony says slowly. Reece’s expression doesn’t change which means that he did know. “And if you’re inviting me, then I would love to join you.”

Reece smiles. “I am. And good.” He immediately turns back to the scallops. “Where are you sourcing the juniper?” he asks.

Tony smiles at that. “Ah, chef, I cannot divulge our secrets.”

“Reece,” Reece says, with a wince. “This is not my kitchen and I am not your chef.” The words come out harsh and Tony is taken aback. He had thought—well, it doesn’t matter what he thought.

“Of course, Reece,” Tony says carefully and the moment of friendship between them returns to its awkward habitual state.

“What did he want?” Adam corners Tony as soon as lunch service ends. There’s no need to explain the “he”.

“He wanted to know what our recipes were and how much you were paying Helene,” Tony says. Adam’s mouth drops and his face starts turning that dull red that portends yelling in the near future. Tony sighs. “Adam, it was a joke. I don’t know what he wanted—he ate lunch and complimented the lobster roll and the scallops. He was less than impressed with the risotto.”

Adam puffs up unconsciously at the compliment and then clenches his jaw about the risotto. The risotto is good—great, even—but it’s a traditional recipe and the one thing that Reece has always disliked is tradition. For the winter season, Reece has branched out into inhalable vapor soups and freeze-dried delicate mains.

“Did he rub the second star in our face?” Adam asks.

“No, because that’s something that only you would be brazen enough to do,” Tony says. Adam glares at that. “My intuition may be a little rusty, but I think that he just wanted to eat here. Not engage in a cat and mouse game of chef versus chef.”

Adam doesn’t seem quite convinced by that, but he lets it go. Tony judges it best not to bring up the fact that he’s joining Reece for dinner next week. It just seems imprudent.

Reece somehow manages to get a hold of Tony’s cell phone number and texts him the details ahead of time. Tony stares at the message—it makes sense that Reece would text him, but it seems odd that Reece would intentionally seek out Tony’s number. It’s not like Tony expected Reece to convey the details by calling the restaurant, but it seems somehow more personal to have texted him.

When Tony tells Doctor Rosshilde at their weekly Monday session about the lunch and their upcoming dinner meeting and how _odd_ it feels to Tony, Doctor Rosshilde makes a thoughtful sound.

“How do you feel about going to dinner with Reece?” she asks.

Tony thinks. “I don’t know. I’m not dreading it,” Tony says slowly, thinking each word out. How does he feel about dinner with Reece? He feels like Reece is a minefield—their past has so many banked fires ready to flare up at a moment’s notice. But there are moments when it’s just the two of them, talking, existing without their baggage. Those moments are nice.

“I would like to have a good relationship with Reece,” Tony says. Doctor Rosshilde nods at that, her eyes warm behind her glasses. “I’m nervous about the dinner with Reece because I feel that we can be friends again. I don’t want to ruin it.”

“It sounds like you’re looking forward to the dinner,” Doctor Rosshilde says, “although you have reservations about obstacles that can come between you. What obstacles are you seeing?”

“What if he makes this about him against Adam?” Tony says.

“Has he done that so far?” Doctor Rosshilde asks. Tony thinks back and slowly shakes his head. “If it does come up, you can address it there. But perhaps, this is an opportunity to start fresh without Adam as a participant in your relationship with Reece.”

Sushi Kyoto is a sleek blue restaurant, accented with gold and grey just off of Covent Garden, a white Georgian building rising up behind it. There are large windows at the front showing off an interior with bamboo flooring, Japanese-style lanterns, a small wrap-around counter facing the sushi chefs and ten chairs, wood-backed with dark blue seats.

It is shockingly intimate in a way that Tony hadn’t really thought of when he’d been at home, getting dressed and carefully letting his mind be blank.

“Tony,” Reece says from behind him and Tony turns around. Reece is there, his overcoat buttoned up and a red scarf around his neck. His hair is slightly tousled and he looks—good. Tony tries to push the swell of attraction down. He’s learned his lesson from Adam. Don’t fall for people who can’t fall back for him. _Not everything is possible_.

“Reece,” Tony says.

“Shall we?” Reece says and gently places his hand on Tony’s back to usher him inside.

They’re seated at the end of the counter where it wraps around, giving the impression of privacy although they’re facing the chefs. Chef Yamamoto nods at Reece when they are seated and Reece nods back. Their waitress comes over and introduces herself and the menu.

They start with a welcoming tea, made from kelp. Tony is too involved with the world of haute cuisine to be really surprised by this, but it leaves a pleasantly savoury aftertaste that is surprising. When he remarks upon this to Reece, Reece looks pleased by this, as if he had been the one brewing it back in the kitchen.

Throughout the tsumami, which are small appetizers ranging from pickled vegetables to a Shikoku oyster with caviar, Tony and Reece find themselves entrenched in a conversation about ethical sourcing and just how far back through the chain one needs to go to consider something ethically sourced.

Reece, as a typical chef, takes the most expensive and difficult position that all components which go into the production of a product, must have been ethically sourced right down to the bolts of the fishing boat. Tony, the more pragmatic person who is responsible for making sure that every item in a kitchen must be found and sourced at the highest professional standards, makes the concession that perhaps it’s alright to not know where the bolts of the ship are from.

From there, they wander into the eternally new topic of which restaurants they want to try—despite the fact that food is their jobs, with their schedules, it is difficult to try each trendy restaurant that opens in London.

“Generally, I have to decide between sorting my clothes to take to the cleaner, finally catching up on television or going out,” Tony says. “Embarrassingly, I usually pick television. I’m running out of clothes.”

“And I’m guessing that on half of your days off, you’re back at the hotel anyways, either in the restaurant or hotel,” Reece says.

“Chefs can be very demanding,” Tony says, smiling.

“They are terrible,” Reece says, as if imparting a deep secret.

By the time that they get to the miso-glazed Alaskan halibut that makes Tony want to steal a stranger’s plate to get another bite, Tony has had several cups of sake and is feeling genuinely happy and content. “This is really nice,” he says. “Thank you for inviting me. This is much better than going through my laundry.”

“I’m glad,” Reece says and he’s fighting back a smile.

The end of the meal seems to come in no time at all and before Tony knows it, they’re paying the bill, getting their coats and walking outside. It’s cold outside, but there’s a gentle warmth from the alcohol and good food that seems to add an extra layer on.

Normally, this is where Tony would say his goodbyes, but he finds himself wanting to continue the evening.

“Which way are you going?” Reece asks Tony.

“Marylebone,” Tony asks.

As he’s debating the reception he’ll receive if he asks if Reece wants to find a pub to grab a drink, Reece says, “I’m heading that way—mind if I join you?”

“Do you mind walking?” Tony asks. They can grab a cab, of course, but that feels definitive.

“Not at all,” Reece says.

It’s a long walk—or rather, it should feel like a long walk—but Reece starts with a story about how one of his chefs almost destroyed their kitchen by leaving a centrifuge open and on all night. Somehow from there, they manage to get onto sports teams. Reece is a Cardiff City fan, through and through. Tony doesn’t really care all that much about football, but he’s a Juventus fan, nominally.

About twenty minutes into their walk, Reece faux-casually brings up Adam. “How is Adam doing?” he asks.

Aha, Tony thinks. “Fine. Healthy. He’s almost even taking care of himself. He and Helene have gone on an official date and not killed each other, which is good for my insurance premiums.”

Reece carefully watches Tony. “And you’re ok with that?”

It was probably obvious to the little men living on the moon that Tony was in love with Adam. It seems silly to dance around the subject with Reece who probably figured it out on the second day that Tony worked at Jean-Luc’s.

“If you’re asking whether I still have feelings for Adam,” Reece tenses at that and Adam shrugs. “I like Adam as a friend some days, despite myself, but that ship has long sailed on anything else. Although, it is nice sometimes to let Adam stew a little in guilt when he remembers to have a conscience.”

Reece looks over at Tony. “Do you date?” he asks.

Tony laughs at that. “Do you? Time is an illusion that I’ve yet to grasp.”

Reece laughs ruefully. “I’m trying,” he says. “We’ll see how it goes.”

The lights of London sparkle in the freezing air, glimmering on each breath out, when they stop in front of Tony’s flat.

“This is mine,” Tony says and Reece smiles at him. It’s a slow smile that warms Tony up from the inside and the streetlight behind Reece lights up his hair, giving him a faint halo, like some mythical Renaissance figure.

Reece takes a step in, moving into Tony’s space, and he brings up his hands, as if to brush something off of Tony’s coat. But the touch is delayed, Reece’s hands coming up to cup Tony’s face instead and even then, Tony’s thoughts feel slow and rich, as if they are soaked in honey.

When Reece kisses him, it is a shock, the simultaneously sweet and bitter pop of nitrogen-poached matcha tea. Tony barely registers the warm press of Reece’s lips against his own and then Reece is stepping away, leaving Tony awestruck.

“I—uh—you kissed me?” Tony says, his mind unable to settle.

Reece smiles at that. “Yes, I did.”

“Thank you for that—I mean, I wasn’t expecting that. It’s just—did you? I mean—uh,” Tony manages to stop himself, temporarily halt his incessant babbling, his arms in some outstretched motion that he’s unable to identify. His mind just keeps replaying the electric ting as Reece’s hands grounded Tony’s face and the hot, heady press of Reece’s lips against his own. His face must be so red, it might as well be glowing

“I’m afraid that my nights are somewhat occupied until next week,” Reece says, “but maybe we could grab some breakfast?”

Tony nods, not trusting himself with words.

“I’ll text you?” Reece says.

Tony nods at that.

“Well, goodnight,” Reece says and then, as if he’s unable to stop himself, he leans back in and kisses Tony again.

This time, Tony is somehow more prepared for it and he opens lips in response, meeting Reece in the middle. They kiss, a bubble of warmth in the frigid night, and when Tony reluctantly pulls away, he can’t tell if it’s been a minute or an hour.

“You’re making this considerably more difficult,” Reece says, but he’s smiling.

Tony can only nod again, as if his vocal cords have fled the scene and gone on vacation to Spain. Reece turns at that and heads off into the night, leaving Tony overheated, awash with hormones and bewildered beyond all reason.

The next morning, Tony has by no means arrived at any further of a conclusion than he had the previous night. Here are the facts that he knows—Reece kissed him. Twice. Voluntarily. He initiated both of the kisses. Dinner at Sushi Kyoto appears to have been a date. A well-thought date since he planned it for Tony’s night off, knew that Tony would want to eat Japanese food and somehow got a hold of Tony’s phone number ahead of time.

The next set of facts: he kissed Reece back. And, he’s not opposed to kissing Reece again.

And that’s it—his brain won’t go any farther.

When he gets to the Langham, Adam pounces on him immediately. “Where were you last night?” Adam asks, his brows drawn tight in that way that means that he’s about to get difficult.

“None of your business,” Tony says and tries to manoeuvre past him.

Adam holds his ground. “I heard that you were at Sushi Kyoto. With Reece.”

Tony resists the urge to groan. Is there no fucking privacy anywhere he goes?

“What’s your point?” Tony asks.

“What did Reece want?” Adam pushes.

Tony glares at Adam and tries to convey just how unwanted this conversation is. “If I wanted to talk to you about my personal life, I would,” he says.

“Is he trying to steal you? Steal the Langham?” Adam asks and Tony closes his eyes, sighing, as Adam’s bluster resolves itself into the one thing that Adam is always most concerned about: Adam.

“No,” Tony says, as patiently as he’s able. “He is not trying to get me to work for him, nor is he trying to steal your restaurant. I do not think that work was on his mind.”

Adam’s shoulders fall in relief and Tony takes the opportunity to move past him and head to his office.

“Wait,” Adam says belatedly. “Then why were you having dinner?”

Tony lets the distance between them stand in lieu of an answer.

That evening, after dinner service has ended, and the restaurant is being cleaned and prepped for Thursday, Tony checks his phone and is pleasantly surprised to see a text from his newest contact, _Reece Montgomery_.

 _We spend our lives in restaurants—how about breakfast at a market on Saturday?_ Reece has asked.

Tony only spends a few seconds looking at it before he types back a response, his fingers moving before he can think about it. _Only if you promise me a warm beverage_.

 _That can be arranged_ , Reece types back. There’s a pause for a few seconds while Tony can see that Reece is typing something. Tony can’t look away. _Broadway Market?_

Tony smiles as he accepts and when Adam comes out, Tony is still smiling, Reece snarking about the sacrifice that he will of course be making in wading through the tourists, his cheeks almost hurting.

“What are you smiling about?” Adam asks suspiciously.

“Nothing,” Tony says as he stows his phone.

It’s nothing approaching warm, but it is a beautiful and clear day when Tony meets Reece at the Broadway market, the coloured mix of stalls a cheery welcome.

For a moment, Tony’s not sure how to greet Reece. He’d agonized over it on the way to the market. It’s been so long since he’s dated, he’s not sure what the proper etiquette is. Does one hug? Kiss? Kiss on the cheeks?

Reece doesn’t seem perturbed by Tony’s hesitation, reaching in for a hug and it feels so good that Tony lets himself be held, his arms wrapping around Reece for a long moment. The chatter of the market-goers and employees around them dims and Tony can smell a hint of bergamot and sage that must be Reece.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Tony says when they finally separate, unable to stop smiling even if he knows that he looks like an idiot.

“Thank you for joining me,” Reece says, but he’s smiling too and it makes Tony feel absurdly better.

They wander around the market; Reece stopping every five seconds to examine something or smell something and inevitably buy something. By the time that they’re halfway through the street, Tony is juggling a mushroom, cheese and fried egg tartine, a berry compote doughnut and a small tray of pasta that Reece has had a bite of and directed Tony to try as well. That’s not to mention the small bag of truffles that Reece purchased “for later” and tucked away.

By the time they’ve reached the end of the market adjoining London Fields, Reece’s hands are full with a small bag of pastries and two steaming cups of deliciously fragrant apple cider. They cross the street and find a bench to sit on, the park still quiet in the relative earliness of the morning.

They take turns trying each of the items, Tony’s favourite being the tartine, Reece practically falling himself over the pasta—which for him had meant that he’d given it an appraising, “It’s not bad,” and then proceeded to finish half of it in one go.

Tony finds that he can’t stop sneaking looks at Reece—today has felt like a revelation in light of their last meeting—and he can’t stop cataloguing how good Reece looks. His cheeks have pinked in the cold, but his eyes are bright and expressive, and even though he’s wearing a heavy coat, Tony can make out the strong, lean lines underneath that he desperately wants to reach out and touch.

“What’s your favourite market in London?” Tony asks. “Is it this one?”

“I don’t know,” Reece says. “Probably Borough Market, even though that sounds like complete bullshit. It reminds me of the markets in Cardiff that my mam used to take me to.” He laughs a bit. “Lord, she’s a terrible cook—that’s probably why I started to learn. Self-defence or preservation.”

Tony can imagine a tiny, serious version of Reece taking over the kitchen, ordering his mother out of the way. It’s endearingly cute.

When Tony looks at Reece, Reece is looking back at him steadily, and so Tony lets himself do what he’s wanted to do since he saw Reece that morning, he leans in and slowly kisses Reece, letting the kiss deepen and linger until they’re both panting and in danger of being arrested for public indecency.

By the time that they both need to leave in order to get to work on-time, Tony is almost feeling drunk, all of his emotions wheeling around him like a free-for-all.

As they walk over to the London Fields station, Reece clears his throat. “I need to test some recipes on Monday,” Reece says nonchalantly. “Do you want to help taste them?”

“Are you offering to cook for me?” Tony asks, his eyebrows raised. Reece blushes at that. Reece offering to cook feels shockingly intimate—Tony would have been less surprised if Reece had just suggested that they find a nearby hotel and rent a room.

“And what if I am?” Reece asks. “Some people have even suggested that I’m quite good at it.”

“And by some people, you mean?”

“I mean the most-esteemed food critics of our generation,” Reece says and Tony laughs at that.

“A bold claim,” Tony says. “I would love to come over and help you with my substandard taste buds.”

“There is nothing substandard about you,” Reece says and his voice is serious enough to make Tony pause and look at him.

“It was just a joke,” Tony says slowly, unsure of what he’s done wrong here. It was just a joke. But there’s a rush of warmth at Reece’s defensiveness on behalf of Tony as well. “But thank you,” Tony says and he means it.

There’s no disguising Tony’s good mood at the restaurant and Adam is exceedingly suspicious when they do the staff meal. Kaitlin seems to have guessed by now what is going on—putting two and two together from when Reece came to Adam Jones’s at the Langham and their subsequent dinner at Sushi Kyoto. She seems happy for Tony.

“You’re never this happy,” Adam says when they’re all at the staff meal—tomato salad with stracciatella cheese and basil and a mushroom risotto. “I feel like it’s against the code of restaurant workers to be this happy.”

Tony doesn’t even bother responding to that, continuing his conversation with Max. “Leave him alone,” Helene says, sitting down next to Adam. She looks at Adam more than a little fondly and Tony realizes that it doesn’t hurt—he’s still more than a little convinced that Adam and Helene as a romantic notion will crash and burn. But if it doesn’t, he’ll be very happy for them. And, if it does crash and burn, he’ll castrate Adam if Helene ends up leaving.

Tony shows up to Reece’s flat in Fitzrovia, bottle of Chateau Cheval Blanc, Saint-Emillion, 1998, in his hand. He laughs to himself when he thinks about Reece’s blatant lie about living in Marylebone.

Reece smiles when he opens the door and takes the bottle of wine from Tony’s outstretched hands. After a moment of examination, he raises an eyebrow. “I raided the hotel’s cellar,” Tony says. “It seemed appropriate for the chef in question.”

“Thank you,” Reece says and then places the bottle on a small black table next to the entrance as Tony walks in.

Reece steps into Tony’s space, pressing him against the wall, heat spreading down Tony. “Hello,” he says.

“Hello,” Tony says back, a sense of giddiness and excitement rising in his chest. “Didn’t you tell me that you lived in Marylebone?”

Reece’s eyes are dark and hooded as he smiles and sends another thrill through Tony. “You must have been mistaken,” he says and then Tony reels him in for a welcome kiss.

Eventually they break apart and Reece flashes an apologetic smile. “The food,” is all he says and directs Tony through the entrance hall which leads to a staircase and then, beyond that, an open plan kitchen, dining room and living room with a huge vaulted ceiling.

There’s an island in the kitchen where Reece has set up his work station with bar stools opposite it. Reece takes Tony’s coat and Tony goes to examine Reece’s work—there’s a gently simmering stock on the stove, several eggs laid out on the counter, an assortment of vegetables waiting to be chopped and beef cheek marinating in a bowl.

Tony heads over to the sink. “I have no personal aspirations towards cooking,” Tony says, washing his hands. “But I’ve been told that I am excellent at following directions.”

Reece stops short at that and gives Tony a blistering look that leaves Tony half-hard and parched. “Are you now?”

“Perhaps you’ll find out,” Tony says, daring Reece, and Reece mock glares at him. “I’m also happy to watch if you would prefer. I’ve worked around enough chefs to not take it personally when my inability to cut perfectly equal slices causes anxiety.”

Reece puts Tony to work dicing the carrots, then slicing the torpedo onions and sunchoke, which Reece then sautées over the stove while the beef cooks. In a great show of trust, Reece even lets Tony poach the eggs while Reece prepares a whipped lemon crème fraiche.

Reece beautifully plates the soft poached eggs, one on each of their plates, with a carefully spooned dollop of lemon crème fraiche on top and caviar to taste on top of that. Tony’s mouth is already watering as Reece motions for him to try.

Tony takes a spoonful, making sure to get a little of the egg yolk, egg white, crème fraiche and caviar in his spoon, and then tastes it slowly, letting each flavour come to him, rising together in a medley of savoury perfection. He can’t help but close his eyes to taste it more fully and, embarrassingly, he groans.

“That’s amazing,” he says and Reece looks critically at him.

“Should I have used the golden osetra?” he asks.

Tony thinks about the flavours and shakes his head. “No, this is perfect. If my mouth could sing, it would.”

Reece pours some wine for them while they wait for the beef to finish and they chat about the rest of their weekend, the newest James Bond film, nothing in particular and before Tony knows it, he’s finished his full glass and as he pour himself another, he realizes that he’s a little bit tipsy. It’s not a bad feeling.

“This is nice, Reece,” Tony says and he looks around the flat. “Your place is wonderful. And the company is even better.”

Reece doesn’t smile at that, looking down at his glass. “Look, I have to know before we go any further,” Reece says and his face is carefully neutral, his eyes showing no hint of emotion, “Are you still in love with Adam? Because this means something to me and…I think that it means something to you. But I don’t want to be your second place or someone that you settle for when you couldn’t have Adam.”

Tony picks up his glass of wine, gives Reece’s question the full weight that it deserves. The wine legs run down the side of the glass, catching the light like tears of blood as he shifts the glass around. When he’s thought through his answer, he puts the glass down and looks at Reece.

“I think that we both know it would be silly for me to say that I haven’t had feelings for Adam. I think that half of Paris must have known how I felt about Adam. He was…larger than life during a time where I wanted someone to look up to, as I was trying to find my way. And, he needed me. It was like catnip.”

Reece is watching Tony carefully, taking in each word and Tony tries to find a way to say what he’s thinking. “Some days I like Adam. Some days I hate Adam. I respect him as a chef always. Right now, he is my chef. But, I do not love Adam as anything other than a chef and friend and I don’t want to be with him.”

Reece leans across the table, gently moves Tony’s wine glass to the right and then leans in to kiss him. The urgency from earlier is back in full force and Reece stands up, coming over and crowding him in his seat. Tony pulls Reece’s shirt out from where it’s tucked in and let’s himself do what he’s wanted to do for days, feel Reece. He runs his hands alongside Reece’s back, feeling the smooth skin and muscle, lean but firm from hours of hard work.

Reece bites down at the base of Tony’s neck and Tony swears, his whole body goes weak. “Bedroom,” Tony says.

“What about—” Reece starts and then definitively, he says, “Fuck the beef.” And then they’re both standing up, clothes being shed as they move towards the bedroom, unable to stop themselves from kissing against the wall or doorway until they’re finally in front of Reece’s bed.

Reece is out of the remainder of his clothes before Tony can blink, a chef’s efficiency apparently extending outside of the kitchen, and he helps Tony unbutton his shirt while Tony kicks off his boxer briefs.

There’s a moment, when they’re both undressed, where Tony just watches Reece in the dimmed light. He’s so gorgeous—so beautiful and he’s right here in front of Tony looking like Tony is a prize truffle for the taking.

“Come here,” Tony says and Reece does.

When they’re done, lazy and sated, too tired to even get underneath the covers, Reece rolls over and lays his head on Tony’s chest, Tony curling his arm around Reece. Fire services will need to show up to deal with the beef in the oven before Tony is willing to move.

“I can’t believe I was so stupid,” Tony says, Reece curled underneath his arm. “I should have been mooning over you for all these years. I didn’t even know what I was missing.”

“But now you do,” Reece says, more than a little bit smugly.

“You can bet on that,” Tony says and somehow finds the energy to pull Reece up, Reece’s full weight against him and it feels like heaven, so he can kiss him again.

When Tony gets the invitation for Jason Atherton’s new restaurant opening in the Shard, he calls up Reece. Reece picks up on the second ring.

“I was just thinking of calling you,” Reece says, his voice amused.

“Wild guess,” Tony says. “But did you also receive an invitation to the opening of Blue Elephant?”

“Perhaps,” Reece says evasively.

“Well, let’s pretend that you haven’t. Would you like to be my plus one to the opening?” Tony asks.

Tony can hear Reece smile over the phone. “I would love to be your date,” he says.

When Reece and Tony show up together at the opening, photographers’ flashes going off right and left as they move through the red carpet into the Shard, no one notices much about the two of them. After all, they’re not the main event here.

At least not until they emerge from the elevator and head into the restaurant, Reece’s hand pressed against the small of Tony’s back, a steadying presence. Adam, who’s there with Helene, takes one look at them and his mouth falls comically wide open.

“Maybe a drink first?” Tony suggests.

“Yes, I think a drink would be an excellent idea,” Reece says, holding back his laughter. After all, the only thing better than finding out that the impossible is possible—that someone can and does love Tony back—is getting to enjoy the look of shock on one’s friends’ faces. 


End file.
